


Just Can't Get Enough

by caitlinnlouwho



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Concussions, Courf is an idiot, Doctor Combeferre, Enjolras and Courfeyrac are roommates, Fluff, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitlinnlouwho/pseuds/caitlinnlouwho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac loves his friends dearly, but he’d be spitting out a stone cold lie if he says that spending an evening in the emergency room with Bossuet is his idea of fun. </p><p>Until he turns a corner and is smacked rather gracelessly to the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Can't Get Enough

Courfeyrac loves his friends dearly, but he’d be spitting out a stone cold lie if he says that spending an evening in the emergency room with Bossuet is his idea of fun.

Besides his tendency to worry for his friends (regardless of whether or not his bright idea put them in trouble), he has a near-crippling dislike of all things medical. Given the injury rate of his friend group, he quite often finds himself huddled in a chair in the waiting room or lying on a gurney waiting to be looked at. Since _he_ had suggested to go midnight-grocery-cart racing with Bossuet, resulting in the latter’s split lip and sprained wrist, Joly had made damn sure that Courfeyrac paid the appropriate price by driving Bossuet to the hospital and waiting until he was released. Courfeyrac’s ear is still throbbing from the shrieks that Joly had let out when he called to say they were ‘dropping by’.

The two vanished behind a set of doors almost an hour ago, so Courfeyrac decides to go for a walk (mostly to get far away from the man sitting near him with a paring knife stuck through his hand). He’s sure it’s written down in _The Care and Feeding of Courfeyracs_ somewhere that they cannot stay up past 3 AM or else they’ll die, _especially in hospitals_ , but he hopes that coffee and a croissant will do the trick.

Unfortunately, the hospital turns into even more of a labyrinth after midnight, and Courfeyrac is hopelessly lost. He’s sure that corner led to that floor, and that floor is a staircase away from the coffee, but somewhere he’s made a wrong turn and now he’s on the fifteenth floor instead of the second. He’s about to give up and beg someone for directions back to the ER when he rounds a corner and is suddenly smacked rather gracelessly to the floor.

Of course, he isn’t about to complain when his attacker is a Hot Guy Doctor. They’re exceedingly rare, especially in hospitals which cater to the older neighborhoods of Paris. Courfeyrac hopes he’s not dreaming, because Hot Guy Doctor is wearing a fucking bowtie and worriedly helping him up.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” the taller man asks, brow knitted in concern behind his glasses (and they’re _horn rimmed_ , _holy shit it should be illegal to be this hot_ , Courfeyrac thinks desperately). “I promise I heal people more often than I break them.”

Courfeyrac shakes his head a bit, hoping that he’s not drooling or anything else that reads as ‘painfully awkward’ in all caps. “I’m fine,” he grins. “Especially knowing that patients here are in such capable hands.”

Hot Guy Doctor’s mouth quirks up. “Are you sure you’re not concussed?” he laughs, and Courfeyrac smirks at him. “Either way, there has to be a reason you’re wandering around the burn unit,” he says, fiddling with a pen in his coat pocket.

Courfeyrac stamps down the urge to make a joke about something being too hot and instead replies, “I was trying to find coffee.” He feels a bit lame for that one, but pastes on his most pathetic expression and crosses his fingers hopefully.

“You’re in luck,” Hot Guy Doctor grins. “Down the hall and to the left.” Courfeyrac smiles wide, hoping his dimples are showing, and saunters off with a wink. He’s suddenly very glad that he made the wrong decision in wearing his tight pants to midnight-grocery-cart racing, since Hot Guy Doctor now has a perfect view of his ass.

“Thanks, doc,” he calls over his shoulder, and waits until the door shuts behind him to groan audibly, burying his face in his hands. “God _damn_ it.”

It’s only when he looks up that he notices there’s not a coffee pot to be found.

* * *

Enjolras is only slightly puzzled when he opens the door to his apartment to find Courfeyrac attempting to use the spiral staircase as a set of monkey bars.

“What now?” he grumbles, kicking his shoes off and flopping onto the couch, cradling his coffee cup protectively. He would have had a decent day if not for the frantic text from Grantaire saying that the printing place lost the poster mock-ups he’d designed. Which, in Enjolras-world, would not have been a problem, but Grantaire hadn’t made copies and things had turned to shit fairly quickly.

“No reason,” Courfeyrac replies hurriedly, jumping down and sitting across from him. “I just need you to whack me in the ankle with a baseball bat.”

“Jesus Christ, Courf. Why do I need to mutilate you? I’d rather you be able to walk.” Enjolras says, and massages his temples.

“Because,” he begins, drawing out each syllable, “I might have met someone and I need to meet them again,” he finishes sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Who?” Enjolras rarely paid attention to Courfeyrac’s catches _du jour_ , but if he was willing to bash his bones in to see them, then Enjolras was willing to listen.

“I—uh—I don’t know his name, exactly. I was just calling him Hot Guy Doctor.”

“Hot Guy Doctor—?”

“Yes!” Courfeyrac cries, throwing a hand over his face. “Remember how Joly forced me to take Bossuet to the hospital last week?”

“After the Great Grocery-Cart Incident of 2014? How could I forget—“ Enjolras deadpans, and Courfeyrac shushes him by throwing their beloved tricolor pillow across the room.

“Quiet, you. I literally ran into him while I was looking for the caf. Smacked straight into his pecs and everything.”

“And now you’re trying to get yourself hurt so he’ll treat you and then ask you out?” Enjolras manages to laugh around a mouthful of pillow.

Courfeyrac grins, cheeks flushing pink. “You know me so well, E.” He hops up and begins to swing from the staircase again. “Although I would hardly call it actively trying. Perhaps I’ll land the wrong way on my dismount.” He lets go of the bars with a flourish and lands securely on the rug. “Damn.”

Enjolras raises an eyebrow and goes back to his book, which elicits a bored groan from his roommate. 

“Let’s go get Chinese,” he says, plucking the book out of Enjolras’ hands and hauling him off the couch.

“What happened to hurting yourself in order to find Hot Guy Doctor?” Enjolras asks crossly, as Courfeyrac all but shoves his red coat at him.

“I need energy to function, E. A brilliant romantic mastermind such as I cannot hope to exist without nourishment!” he crows, yanking open the door and pausing at the landing. “Will you hurry up?” he says, walking backwards down the stairs. “Those egg rolls will not eat themselves—“ His speech is cut off by what Enjolras can only term a squawk (and which Courfeyrac vehemently corrects to be a cry of peril), as his foot misses a step and he goes crashing down the stairs.

“Very funny,” Enjolras says, peering down at him, unamused as he tucks his book into his coat pocket. When Courfeyrac just groans in response, Enjolras reaches the landing in an instant and lightly shakes his shoulder. “I can’t believe it. You weren’t even _trying_ and you hurt yourself.” He would be laughing harder if he knew more about treating head injuries. 

“Hi, E,” Courfeyrac mumbles, and he notices that things are swirling around a bit too much for his liking. He can barely see his roommate, but that’s probably because he never goes outside and is pale as paper anyway—

“I will have you know I get plenty of sunlight, idiot,” Enjolras mutters, and Courfeyrac didn’t realize he’d said that out loud. “Can you sit up?” he asks, easing Courfeyrac up against the wall.

“Totally,” he slurs back, and grins blankly, although he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to stay conscious if he stands up for any amount of time, given how things are still dancing a fucking tarantella around him and his head is on fire. 

“Shit,” Enjolras says, and runs a hand through his hair. “Looks like you’ll get your chance after all. I need to take you to the hospital.”

Courfeyrac whines from where he’s propped against Enjolras’ shoulder; all he really wants to do right now is sleep and he _really_ hates hospitals. “No.”

“All that work and now you don’t want to see Hot Guy Doctor,” Enjolras says, a little fond. “Don’t go to sleep yet.” He shakes Courfeyrac’s shoulder again, and hoists him up. “I’m not Joly and I can’t fix you, so I have to take you to the hot guy. He’ll fix you.”

Courfeyrac smiles stupidly up at him, wobbling on his feet. “Good.”

Enjolras shakes his head, folding Courfeyrac into the passenger seat of his car and climbing in. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You love me, E,” he mutters, and Enjolras shakes his head again, turns his Joy Division playlist up to keep Courfeyrac awake, and heads for the hospital.

* * *

 

Some sort of love-angel- _thing_ must be watching over him, Courfeyrac thinks, because he is lucky enough to have Hot Guy Doctor looking after him in the ER. Of course, he’d rather be impeccably dressed and in full control of himself, rather than curled on a gurney in his track pants and unable to think coherently.

“What happened?” Hot Guy Doctor asks Enjolras, who’s seated next to the gurney looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“He fell down the stairs.”

Courfeyrac thanks his roommate silently that he didn’t go into further detail about his romantic escapades, and groans at the hospital lights. Hot Guy Doctor’s face swims into view, looking perhaps a bit too worried to be professional, and Courfeyrac can just make out the name on his ID badge: Combeferre. “’S nice,” he mumbles, and grabs the pillow, burying his face into it.

Combeferre laughs, and pats Courfeyrac’s ankle. “It happens to the best of us,” he says, and Courfeyrac could kiss him for it. “Cute,” he slurs, again not realizing that he’s speaking out loud, and shuts his eyes.

“How long is he going to be like this?” Enjolras asks, fingers drumming against the chair arm.

“A few hours, and then he should be fine,” Combeferre says, peering at his chart. “I’m going to suggest he stays here for observation for a few hours. We’ll let him sleep some of this off and then you can take him home. I’ll give you a prescription for some painkillers, but he should be completely fine in a few days.”

“I know what’s wrong,” Courfeyrac pipes up, eyes still screwed shut. “I’m lovesick, that’s what’s wrong, doctor.”

Combeferre’s eyebrow quirks, and he perches on the edge of the gurney. “Oh really?” Thanks to Enjolras muttering something about Courfeyrac deliberately landing himself in the emergency room and Courfeyrac's suspicious dimple usage and slurred words, Combeferre's hunch was quickly confirming itself.

“ _Yes_ ,” Courfeyrac moans into the pillow. “He’s gorgeous and smart and funny and I really want to fucking date him but I’m an idiot who falls down stairs. Actually, I fall all the time. That’s how I met him, I fell down.” His words are slowing, and the other two men exchange a glance as Courfeyrac turns over and falls asleep.

Combeferre waits for the sound of even breathing before he turns to Enjolras. “Really? He tried to break his ankle?”

Enjolras laughs quietly. “He did. When Courf makes up his mind, he commits fully.”

Combeferre sighs, pushing his glasses up. “This wasn’t on purpose though, right?” Enjolras shakes his head.

“God no. He’s a fucking klutz,” he says, and plays absently with one of Courfeyrac’s stray curls. “But, he seemed to be pretty stuck on you, and I see how you’re looking at him.”

Combeferre bites his lip for a moment, and then spots Courfeyrac’s phone on the table. Enjolras grins conspiratorially and unlocks it for him, and Combeferre punches in a few numbers before setting it back down.

“I’ll be back in about an hour to check on him. If he doesn’t wake up by ten, let me know,” he says, and draws the curtains behind him as he leaves.

Enjolras just shrugs and goes back to his book.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac wakes with a pounding in his head and a bad feeling in his heart. “E?” he asks, craning his neck to look at his roommate. “What happened?”

“Well, you fell down the stairs and I had to bring you to get checked out. But don’t worry,” he replies teasingly, “Hot Guy Doctor says you’ll be fine in a few days.”

Courfeyrac claps a hand to his forehead and immediately regrets it as a fresh wave of pain courses through his skull. “Please tell me I didn’t—“

“Oh, you did.”

“ _No,_ ” he whispers, and reaches miserably for his phone. “I am such an idiot. I should have just waited until Bossuet got hurt again, and—“ he cuts off when he sees the message on his lockscreen. “Did you have anything to do with this,” he asks flatly, still staring in disbelief at his phone.

“You’ll never know,” Enjolras smirks, sipping his coffee.

Courfeyrac lets out a whoop, bolting upright and typing furiously. “I’m not going to say thank you, but maybe you pushing me down the stairs was a good idea,” he says sarcastically.

“Is that what you’re going to tell everybody? That I pushed you? I’m offended, Courf. We both know I’d poison you if I wanted to kill you,” Enjolras replies mildly.

“I would never lie about our fearless leader's flawless character,” Courfeyrac says, feigning offense. “Besides, you got me a date with Hot Guy Doctor—whoops, _Combeferre_ , and I don’t know if I can ever repay you for that, you meddling little shit.”

Enjolras shrugs, tossing Courfeyrac his coat as he gets up. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

If Courfeyrac’s head twinges a little more after rolling his eyes extra hard, he doesn’t mention it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! These two are my favorite pairing EVER so I'm glad other people like them as much as I do. The title's from a v. famous Depeche Mode song-- it's on my Courfeyrac playlist and I thought it was very appropriate for this fic. Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are loved!


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